The Skill Thief's Canvas - Chapter 42 (Patreon)

The sound of wheels on cobblestone was insufficient to drown out Adam’s wayward thoughts. It couldn’t have been longer than ten minutes, yet some ten minutes are longer than others. Inside that silent, dark carriage, alone with nothing but his fears to keep him company, his mind began to wander.

Eric kept trying to convince me that he wasn’t at fault, even during the very last moment... Adam had to let out a bitter laugh at that. It was too absurd of an excuse not to. Did he really expect me to believe that Tenver would have betrayed me?

Just imagining it felt ridiculous. From the start, Tenver had been unflinchingly loyal. He’d helped Adam survive Aspreay’s cruel treatment, made sure that Adam thrived once he became lord, and helped him brave his way through the dense political threads of the Empire. Tenver had kept some secrets throughout all of that, sure, but even those were only thinly-veiled.

Like how he’d hidden the truth of his parentage. As far as Adam was concerned, that one barely counted. It had been an open secret – to the point where it was less of a secret and closer to a treasure hunt. Tenver hadn’t told Adam outright, but he’d also made no effort to keep the knowledge from him, preferring that Adam discover the truth on his own terms.

Now that I think about it...that’s how he’s been the entire time, hasn’t he?

Back when Adam revealed the extent of his Painter Talent and seized Aspreay’s throne, Tenver had purposefully started behaving erratically, making himself less easy to understand – lest he put himself at risk of being turned into a painting. It was an appropriately cautious move that no one could have faulted...and even then he’d gradually eased Adam into the truth. Rather than avoiding the nature of his heritage entirely, Tenver left a trail of clues for the soul-stealing Painter to follow, leading Adam towards his identity as a Puppet.

That took both trust and loyalty. The kinds that weren’t so easily broken. Unlike Eric, Tenver had always been–

The carriage suddenly stopped.

Adam bit his lip and held his breath. His eyes darted to the drawn curtains on the carriage windows, looking for any gap where the Emperor’s soldiers could have spotted him. I’m fully concealed...but what if they’re methodically searching every carriage in the city? Should I run? Should I–

The door opened before he reached a decision. Blissfully, only Tenver’s tired smile greeted him. "We should be safe here, my lord," the Puppet Knight told him, in a weary tone. "Had to slightly divert our path to escape some search parties, but we should be fine from here on out."

Unfortunate news, yet acceptable. "I suppose we’ll need to take the long way back to the airship, then?"

"If we wish not to be spotted, aye."

"Then let us," Adam affirmed.

Tenver gestured at the open door. "It will be a long, claustrophobic journey inside this carriage. May I convince you to enjoy some fresh air before we resume our journey?"

Adam cursed how much he wanted to say yes. It wouldn’t be prudent to walk outside until he reached their ship. He knew that well.

Still...the muffled, humid air inside his carriage – coupled with the exertion from his earlier desperate escape – had been enough to induce a pounding headache in his skull. It was a pain only heightened by feelings of dread that worsened the longer he stayed locked up in his four-wheeled cage.

Funny. It used to be that dark, windowless rooms would bring me peace, he mused. Over the last few months, I’ve actually started to enjoy open spaces a lot more. I miss the sunlight on cloudy days, and I crave fresh air when I haven’t breathed it in for a while.

Wonder what changed.

Adam put his ruminations aside for now. "What are the chances I’ll be seen by someone?" he asked, emphasizing the caution in his tone.

"None," Tenver promised. "A checkpoint lies south of here, but there are no sets of eyes around but ours."

For once, the Painter decided to embrace that needless desire of his. "Just for a moment," he told his knight. "We’ll have to get going right after."

"As you wish," the other replied, extending a hand to help his exhausted lord out of the carriage. "Enjoy the fresh air while you can, then."

The rain had stopped, although it didn’t feel as though it truly had. This was one of those heavy, humid nights where – long after the storm itself ceased – the air would remain heavy, humid, and oppressive. Gusts of wind, cold enough to make themselves acutely noticeable, yet not cold enough to discomfort, looped the air in a circle, past the nearby tree branches, and touched Adam’s face before passing through into the cliff down below. Night had fallen, but this was a gray night, one where the passage of time became almost...unimportant.

What a view, this cliff was.

"It was hard to get a measure for how tall it is from the Airship, wasn’t it?" Tenver asked, as if aware of Adam’s thoughts. The Painter turned to face him, but the knight didn’t meet his gaze, instead peering down at the darkness below.

Adam shifted his gaze to match Tenver’s. "It was," he admitted. "I knew of the geography from books, but it didn’t strike me exactly how steep the surrounding cliffs were."

"Only the ocean flanks our Capital," Tenver said, wistfully. His voice was lower than usual. "My father used to tell me stories of the Emperors of old; how they utilized an unassailable city to prevent many covetous invaders from usurping their title, even when otherwise outmatched. I remember he once said that leading a city protected by nature itself was proof of..."

Tenver paused suddenly, as if choking. Then, in a hoarser voice, he said, "It was proof of our divine right to rule."

"And you agree with him?" Adam asked.

"Truthfully?" Tenver’s question had a hint of sad bitterness at the end. "These days...these days I do not know. I know not even if he meant the words to be profound, or merely said them carelessly, with little consideration given to whether I’d remember them at all."

He laughed weakly. "My...my father has been gone for some time now. It is the sad truth of a loved one’s death. As the merciless reaper known as time wields its scythe, you obsess over whatever you can recall, ascribe divine meaning to every miserable scrap of memory, turn idle comments into life lessons, and idolize oaths they themselves never held sacred."

Tenver fell silent for a long moment. "It scares me sometimes, Adam. I can’t help but wonder if all this is really what my father would have wanted – or if I’ve distorted his memories to justify my decisions."

Adam took in the cold night with a deep breath. Then, closing his eyes, he said, "Even if you forget what your father said...even if you start to act in ways he never wanted you to...he still would have been proud of your life." He clenched his fist. "That’s what...fathers are supposed to do, right?"

"Aye," Tenver agreed, muffling the sound of laughter down his throat. "He would be on my side, no matter what that side would have been."

A frigid breeze blew in from the bottom of the cliff. It carried with it the faint scent of death.

"In that case," Adam asked, his voice sharp and his eyes still closed, "why are you hesitating?"

Tenver went still. "I..."

"If you’re going to kill me," Adam calmly said, "do it now."

In that dark, cold night, it was difficult to make out the shape of the knight behind him. But much like always, Tenver hadn’t tried to keep his intentions secret – only delay their discovery. Perhaps he felt it easier than stating them outright.

Which is why he now stood behind Adam, his sword extended, its callous steel brushing against the Painter’s neck.

"I hoped..." Tenver struggled to push the words through. "I really hoped you wouldn’t figure it out until...I hoped you would die without knowing."

Silence suffocated them both.

"Why?" Adam finally asked.

"The Emperor...Adam, I...I thought I could handle going against him. But I can’t. Not like this."

Tenver’s tone was uneven, his voice a song the Painter hadn’t ever heard before. "After you escaped, he issued his orders. You are wanted dead or alive – but preferably alive, in order to learn more about your Talent. He said whoever brought you back to him would be rewarded with...anything their heart desired. Orbs, influence, whatever. I could...I could be made heir again."

Adam nodded. "Ah, yes. So you decided to betray me for the sake of the Empire? You think you can bring about more change this way?"

"That’s right," Tenver spat out. "We can’t possibly beat Ciro. Our deaths are guaranteed if we try. What’s wrong with keeping casualties to a minimum, while still helping the Empire...and at the cost of just one life? There’s no reason for me to hesitate, Adam! You’ve seen what I can do. What I have done. The beheadings, the fights, the blood – you’re no different."

The Puppet Knight barked out a laugh. "Mayhap I only ever cared for power, and to restore my position as the rightful heir of the Empire. Your life means nothing to me compared to that."

"I don’t believe you," Adam said, quietly.

Tenver’s voice grew shakier. "Remember that you tried to Ink our trust with your ability – and it didn’t work! You obtained Solara’s Resurrection Talent, but not mine!"

"I think we’re both to blame for that. I didn’t understand your feelings completely, so I was afraid of trusting you until now. But Tenver..."

Adam slowly shook his head. "You’re not some clever mastermind. And you aren’t trying to sacrifice me for the sake of power – or for the throne."

"Thousands could burn in hell," Tenver shouted, "so long as I get to sit upon my birthright once more!"

"Bullshit," Adam stated. "A million lifetimes could come and go. Even then, you still wouldn’t mean those words."

Silence’s hold on them grew tighter, both their throats closing up. "That’s not–" Tenver stumbled over his own words. "That’s not–that’s absurd! I speak the truth, my lor–Adam–you treasonous–"

"If that’s really true," Adam muttered, "then why are you crying?"

Tenver’s blade trembled against Adam’s neck. His teeth clattered loudly, a sound escaped his throat, and words failed him. Adam waited regardless.

Eventually, Tenver found the wherewithal to speak. "You don’t understand, A–Adam," he whispered. "Just...just hate me. Curse my existence. Make this easier for me. Please."

"No." Adam turned around. The motion nearly pressed the shaking blade against his skin – he didn’t care, nor did he slow down. Even under the faint moonlight, he could see Tenver’s tears rolling down his bright red face. "If you really believe that killing me is the best course of action for the common people, then maybe I would let you do it. But you have to look me in the eyes and–"

"DON’T!" Tenver sobbed, his trembling sword and shakier voice filled with a deeper desperation than what was on the surface. "DON’T LOOK ME IN THE EYE, ADAM! I CAN’T–"

"Why do you want to kill me?" Adam asked, his voice tranquil. "Tell me the real reason," he said again, fiercely, but gently. "I know you aren’t a heartless, scheming lord who hungers for power. You’re so much more than that."

"THAT’S WHAT I AM!" Tenver insisted, through his cries. He tightened a clumsy grip on the blade, pressing the steel closer into Adam’s throat, even drawing a thin line of blood. It wasn’t enough to make the painter step away. "I am – I am a Puppet, Adam," he growled. "I’m an inhuman monstrosity that feigns emotions I could not have. I–"

"I trust you, Tenver," Adam said.

His proclamation hung in the air like a thunderbolt. Tenver took a step back, his sword grip loosening as he rapidly shook his head. "Why now?" he mumbled. "I’ve wanted you to say that for so long, Adam...why does it have to be now?"

"It took me a while to figure out." The sound of the cold wind breeze was the only thing that violated silence’s dominion. "I"m sorry. Should’ve told you sooner."

"No – don’t–"

"One thing I realized earlier," Adam said, with a faint smile on his face, "is that people will always fool, betray, and lie. You can’t protect yourself from that, no matter how careful you are. If you want to really care about someone, then sometimes...you just have to take that gamble. If they’re worth it, anyway."

He laughed gently. "With Eric, I gambled and lost. With you, I gamble – and leave the rest in your hands."

"Adam..." Tenver lowered his sword and fell to his knees, although the threat of death remained. Murder hadn’t yet left his eyes, and if given sufficient motivation, he could rise once again. "Adam...I..."

"Please, Tenver. Tell me why you’re doing this. I know you have a good reason."

Silence continued its reign.

"There really is a checkpoint nearby," the knight managed, after a long pause. "However...we can’t walk around it. I tried my best to find a covert path, but we are well and truly surrounded. Just several minutes away from here, a Hangman is leading one hundred foot soldiers with instructions to search every carriage and bring you back alive. I can’t let that happen."

Adam pondered the idea. "Why not? Let them take me captive. You’ll gain favor with the Emperor, and so long as I’m alive, I should have the chance to esca–"

"I CAN’T LET THEM DO THAT TO YOU!" Tenver rose to his feet in an erratic, jerky movement. His watering eyes burned with a sad determination. "Adam, I have seen what Ciro does to his prisoners. Do you not remember what he did to my supporters who wanted me to inherit the throne? The very reason that I accepted being banished to Penumbria?"

The knight had shared that memory before. Each of Tenver’s loyal servants and peers had been put through the worst of tortures, kept alive only so that their suffering would not end.

"When Ciro feels slighted...the things he does to a person..." Tenver shivered at the thought. His entire body, from his sword arm to his knees, recoiled from the painful memory that burned in his eyes. "Adam, when he’s done with them, they don’t even look human anymore. Not a night goes by where I don’t have nightmares of what remained of their faces.. Even now...even now I d-don’t know if they were really looking at me, or if their sanity was burnt out along with their eyelids. I pray that it was."

Oh, Tenver...

"I can’t – I WON’T LET THEM DO THAT!" Tenver cried out. "I won’t let them do that–TO–MY–BEST–FRIEND!"

His strength seemed to shift from his grip to his sobs, which grew ever louder. "Even if you hate me...even if you curse me until your dying breath...that’s fine. But I won’t let Ciro do anything to you. It won’t happen again."

The knight’s pain and resolve shone through more clearly than ever before. Only now did Adam feel as though he’d truly seen his friend for the first time, devoid of masks of mystery, and without cloaks of danger. Here, naked despair ruled alone.

Tenver...how long have you been living like this? Have you not let anyone see you like this before? Then again...I don’t suppose I’m much better.

Even right now.

"Kill me then, Tenver," Adam coldly stated. "Do it – or I’ll go fight the Hangman and his soldiers."

"Don’t be stupid! There’s no way you can fight your way through a contingent of twenty men led by–"

"Then kill me now," Adam insisted. "Or get out of my way." With that, he stepped forward, approaching Tenver, and pushing past his blade.

"Don’t–no–please–I can’t do it if you look me in the eye like that. Please, please, look away, I–"

Adam didn’t look away. He maintained his gaze, staring directly into Tenver’s eyes as he approached, gently pushing the sword away from his neck. Adam only stopped walking when he was mere inches away.

The two looked into the other’s eyes for too long, and for not long enough. Fragile fear could be seen in the knight’s eyes, laid as bare and plain as the Painter’s unflinching trust. We’ve been a pair of right cowards, haven’t we?

He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. "Wait for me," Adam promised. "I’ll be back after clearing a path. We’ll be able to ride the carriage down this way, then."

"Are you insane? That’s not–"

"You can’t come help me," Adam cut him off. "Need to appear like you’re a neutral party, right? The Emperor just forgave you for all your supposed crimes – and I know how important it is for you to remain as an influential player on the Empire’s political stage. That won’t be possible if you’re seen fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with a rebel insurgent."

"But...Adam...you’re going to die. There are too many soldiers for you to overcome alone."

"On top of that," the Painter continued, as if he hadn’t heard him, "you can’t fight without exposing your Puppet arm. Not if you want to use your Talent. So..."

Adam trailed off. What are the right words to say here? What do I say to someone who I’ll never see again, so that they’ll seek happiness even after my death?

He could have searched for a lifetime and still not found them.

"Just stay here," Adam said again, injecting false confidence in his voice. "Stay here and wait. If anyone asks, tell them I defeated you in a duel – but not before you inflicted some wounds on me." He flashed the burn he’d received earlier from Aspreay’s Realm. "Remember that."

And with those parting words, he left.

"ADAM–!"

--

Would you look at that...it’s started to rain again.

It suited the occasion just fine. Stepping away from Tenver felt simpler with a heavy, falling water to shroud what he was leaving behind. Much easier if I can’t see him.

Easier didn’t mean easy, though. Rain has the odd quality of shading emotions into darker versions of themself. Although he felt rather refreshed, Adam’s lonesome walk still seemed to pierce at his soul with every step.

But...

Tenver never planned on betraying me. A hesitant smile crept onto his face. Much like a condemned criminal granted a favored last meal before being executed, the thought was almost enough to make his dreary death march seem pleasant.

Almost.

Even though Tenver had always been loyal to him, the Puppet Prince’s fear was as real as it was justified. Adam could hardly fault him for not throwing his life away, let alone ask him to knowingly walk toward his demise. Hangmen were beyond powerful, having transcended the realm of mortals to become demigods walking among their inferiors. Fighting one – one accompanied by a Royal Guard contingent, no less – was tantamount to suicide.

On top of that, after being reminded of the torture inflicted upon the Empire’s prisoners...

Adam shuddered as if a chill had passed over his grave. The least I can do is not be captured alive. That might alleviate Tenver’s conscience a little.

If he were to stop here, the Empire would inevitably capture him. The only way through was forward – right through the checkpoint. His freedom had been barred by military might that could have brought an entire city to its knees. Adam was a pessimistic person by nature; on any other day, this set of circumstances may have driven him to despair.

But not today.

Because Tenver hadn’t betrayed him.

Solara didn’t, either. His smile crept wider. I wouldn’t have been able to use her Resurrection if she wasn’t trustworthy. Neither of them were like Eric.

The idea brought him more peace than he cared to admit, even to himself. While all people were fated to die someday, only the truly fortunate got to cross to the other side knowing they had left behind genuine friends – people who would mourn them sincerely. Adam had long assumed that he would never find himself among those privileged few.

Not since Eric’s first betrayal, anyhow.

After Eric plagiarized his life’s work, Adam had been torn between allowing death to take him or finding a way to bathe himself in riches so he could forget his pain. Everything seemed different afterwards, he thought. I wanted to find a way to live, not just survive. Like making it through the nightmare of today wasn’t enough to want a tomorrow anymore.

Even when this resolve of his was tested, Adam had remained steadfast. Having stared at death, his gaze unblinking and defiant. he couldn’t bring himself to care for merely living day-to-day.

Now, though...

If he was being honest...

He wouldn’t mind surviving.

It didn’t need to be glorious, grandiose, or even particularly dignified. I have people who care about me now, he thought, shamefully. I want to share drinks with Tenver again. Learn more about how he thinks. Paint more models with Solara. Get her to explain how the damned game even works. Have adventures around the world with them. As long as they’re around, I...

I don’t want to die.

The notion was still fresh in his mind when Adam felt a sword pierce his chest.

"Sorry," said a cloaked figure from atop the hill, apologetically holding up one hand. "I didn’t want to take chances."

There was a disarming lack of pain. The feeling of his legs trembling as energy fled his body was far worse. As Adam’s life started to fade, he saw his assailants – a pair of armored soldiers. Not even Hangmen. They had been waiting to ambush him.

Is this...how it ends? Adam grit his teeth and forced himself to stay upright. He reached to strike at the soldiers, yet both had already drawn their weapons and retreated back. They fell in line with what seemed to be at least twenty other fighters, all led by a cloaked figure who sat atop the hill, overseeing their contingent from above as if ruling from a throne.

"Don’t bother fighting," said the cloaked figure. Adam couldn’t make out their face, but from her voice, it sounded like a woman. "We have orders to bring you back alive. Our weapons are coated with a special poison – within moments, your blood will carry the poison through your body and render you unconscious."

She shrugged. "Nothing personal. The Empire’s peace comes first. That is all."

Poison. Adam called upon his Stained Ink. I won’t let it spread. His red blood became dark, corrupted Ink, then stopped flowing inside of him. It prevented the poison from circulating through his veins while also stemming further loss of blood. "I’m not so weak as to fall from that," Adam shouted.

"Mother of Gods," the cloaked woman said, in a disturbed tone. "Your very blood has become rotten. How can you speak as if you aren’t possessed by the darkness? Nay, how can you live?"

She shook her head and rose to her feet. "Before, this was a mission I reluctantly partook in. Now...now I know your death is necessary for the Empire’s survival."

Adam forced out a weak laugh. "You think this one painter’s life is a threat to the Empire?"

"Yes," the cloaked figure admitted. "I do."

He smiled faintly. "Well, all the more reason for me to live then, isn’t it? This Empire is more rotten than the rot itself."

To his surprise, he wasn’t met with anger from either the woman or her twenty soldiers. "Mayhap so," she admitted. "But your blood has rotted, your soul is stained, and your continued existence is an act of treason. This Hangwoman must stop your Canvas here."

Adam swirled the Ink around his body, trying to feel out the extent of his injuries. Nausea threatened to overtake him, and his reflexes felt slower...but his knees hadn’t buckled. It will have to do. "You accuse my birth of being treason against the Empire?"

"Nay," the Hangwoman replied. "Your birth was an act of treason against life itself."

He considered how he had traveled to the Painted World. "Yeah," Adam admitted. "Maybe so, my lady."

"So you will surrender?"

"No," Adam said without hesitation. "Not at all."

He took a moment to examine the poison inside of him. It made him feel sick and lightheaded, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I ranked up my Stained Ink recently...there’s a chance it can stop poison now. Although Adam hadn’t been afforded the time to put that theory to practice, and it wasn’t really something he could safely test, anyway.

But he had tested his ability to make his body faster and stronger by forcibly accelerating Inked Blood through his veins – almost like supernatural doping. While I’m in my Stained state, my body won’t die even if my heart isn’t pumping any blood. How far can I push that, though? What’s the limit before I just straight-up die? Will it be enough to stave off the poison while I fight?

Adam really didn’t know.

With that in mind, the most logical decision would have been to surrender. The second-most logical decision, if he chose to fight, would have been to limit his use of the Stained Ink and stall things out in the vain hope that someone would save him. Solara should be approaching with their Airship any moment, and the prototypical machine could likely sneak in undetected above the cover of dark stormclouds. If he just stayed back and bought time...now that had a better chance of working.

Adam generally considered himself a logical person. Until tonight, he had usually committed himself to following the most rational, reasonable way to handle any task before him. Be it painting someone’s soul, executing Baltsar, or usurpring Penumbria from Aspreay – every one of his actions possessed a solid rationale behind it. And right now, that logical reasoning was telling him to fall back, refuse to engage, and wait for backup.

BUT TONIGHT–

Adam raced his Stained Ink through his veins, circulating the poison and the rot in equal amounts.

–MY BLOOD IS BOILING!

His skin seemed to burn hot, the falling rain turning into mist upon contact. If he were to melt away, to spread the poison, then so be it – but he would go down fighting. The wet shirt that had so annoyingly clung onto his skin ripped apart and fell to the wayside.

"Let’s dance, Hangwoman."

She stared at him for a moment, taken aback. "I must admit, I had not taken you for the emotional type." The Hangwoman pointed a spear at him, and her troops readied their weapons in response to her signal. "The man who outfoxed Aspreay should not be this emotional."

"Apologies," a new voice said. "It must be my fault, Lady Ernanda."

Adam wasn’t sure whether or not to feel surprise as Tenver suddenly walked up beside him. The Puppet Knight entered the battlefield as if he was fashionably late to a party, a carefree smirk adorning his features. "I’m afraid I have been a bad influence on him," he continued, with a short, mocking bow.

Beneath the dense rain, it was hard to make out the Hangwoman’s reaction, but her brief silence spoke loudly. Eventually, she found the wherewithal to reply. "Prince Tenver, your crimes were only just forgiven."

Her unsaid words spoke even louder. Thanks to Eric giving Tenver credit for slaying the Ghost of Waters, the knight had finally been allowed to return to the Capital, his previous crimes forgiven, and his banishment forgotten. For many years, this had been the Puppet Prince’s dream – to reclaim his birthright, avenge his father, and protect the common folk. Yet just standing beside Adam like this was enough to call into question what he had yearned for so earnestly.

"There’s no way we’re going to win," Adam remarked, eyeing Tenver. "You know that, right?"

The Puppet Knight nodded. "Aye. Even so, I...I thought it over after you left. Mayhap more than I have ever thought about anything else."

"And what conclusion did you reach?"

"That if my lord – if you are going to cast yourself down into the flames of hell..."

Tenver cracked his neck. "Then I will burn down to ashes alongside you."

Adam held his gaze for a moment. Dozens of objections raced through the Painter’s mind. You idiot! I don’t want you to die! Why get both of us killed when there’s no reason for it? This is stupid! Run! It’s better for the Empire, for everyone – just RUN!

Then, he smiled. "Thank you," Adam said, sincerely.

"Prince Tenver!" Ernanda the Hangwoman appeared more than mystified; she was downright furious. "Once you do this, there will be no turning back. Even the Holy Emperor’s generosity has its limits!"

The Knight chose not to respond with words – but with an attack. His Puppet Arm flexed into its real size, shattering the armor that had hidden it from the world until now. Before the metal fragments had even reached the apex of their flight, a number of arrows were shot at the Royal Guard, hitting one, two, five soldiers and knocking them down.

And the Puppet responsible for that attack stood proudly, having shed away both the armor that covered his upper body...and his hesitation. "With this," Tenver declared, "my nature is clear."

The Hangwoman’s face twisted with shock before contorting into a rictus of disgust. There was no need for words or curses. Now that Tenver’s nature as Puppet had been revealed, he could not be allowed to live. Emperor Ciro would order his execution even if he chose to side against Adam.

The die was cast, the ships were burned, the game was afoot – and the Knight stood beside his Painter Lord.

"Forgive me for my hesitation until now," Tenver said, quietly. "Let us burn away our regrets."

"With pleasure." Adam quickened the Stained Ink across his blood. "Thank you, Tenver. For being my friend."

Painter and Puppet stood side by side. Above them was the heavy rain, before them was the army of death, and on their proud backs was the symbol of trust, shaded with their resolve.

Adam only wished he could see the finished result. What did the painting he’d inked on both their backs look like, exactly?

Although in truth...he didn’t really need to see it. Even without looking at Tenver’s back or his own, Adam knew what to title this final portrait.

The Painter and His Loyal Knight

His Talent burned as the two of them exploded forward.

--

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